


Attack and Defend

by sabinelagrande



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Dom Teyla Emmagan, F/M, Getting Together, Sparring, Sub Ronon Dex, Subspace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:07:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27581780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabinelagrande/pseuds/sabinelagrande
Summary: It's a sparring match. It isn't a sparring match at all.
Relationships: Ronon Dex/Teyla Emmagan
Comments: 3
Kudos: 29
Collections: JoyFest 2020





	Attack and Defend

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Isagel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isagel/gifts).



Ronon scares tops.

He actually enjoys doing it. Ninety-nine percent of them are not worth his time; if they were worth his time, they'd realize he's fucking with them on purpose. He really appreciates it when someone calls him on it, but it's really only other subs that can do that.

He doesn't really remember if he's ever done it to Teyla. He's very aware she doesn't find him scary, which he was kind of offended by at first but by now has come to appreciate. If he tried to scare her, intimidate her, she'd roll her eyes, give him the same fond, 'the people I have chosen to ally myself with are ridiculous' look she has for McKay and Sheppard when they do dumb shit.

This probably is not unrelated to the reason that Ronon is trying to catch her attention. He knows there's something there, how sometimes one of them doesn't look away fast enough, how his eyes follow her, tracking her place in a room, how sometimes she'll put her hand on his arm and almost pull away again.

So if Teyla doesn't scare, here's his plan for taking a step forward: if he can't be a threat, he'll be a target.

They're scheduled to spar anyway, but unlike usual, he shuts the doors to the makeshift gym. "The new recruits are the most goddamn loud people I've ever heard in my life," he says, by way of explanation.

Teyla considers this and shrugs. "You are not wrong. Sometimes when they invade the mess I cannot hear myself think."

"Don't want to be distracted," Ronon says, and he picks up the set of Bantos rods that he was gifted. He doesn't love them, but they're Teyla's thing; he's also not nearly as good with them as he is with other weapons. He's a little better when he's only got one, closer to how he knows how to fight.

They talk a little and then square off. "Your form is off today," Teyla says conversationally, as she drives him back.

"Yeah?" Ronon says, though he knows it is.

"I cannot quite place it," she says, before she goes in for a volley of strikes that he intentionally doesn't block properly.

Teyla doesn't exactly seem annoyed with him, but she does look maybe a little suspicious. She's going to figure out soon that she's letting him win, and he needs to let her win before she figures that out and stops the bout. So Ronon does something he hasn't done in a long time: he takes a dive.

He doesn't actually take a physical dive, because she's trying to pin him against the wall; instead he's just a little clumsy with his feet, enough to give her the opening to drive him back and shove him. He smacks into the wall, and then she's right there, her Bantos rods, crossed to trap his neck against the wall.

"Looks like you've got me right where you want me," Ronon says, giving her a sharp smile.

It doesn't work at all. Her face goes cold, stony. "Is that what you think of me?"

"Why not?" he says, trying to recover it.

Her hands go tighter on her sticks, but all at once she releases him. "I will not run you down like I am a Wraith," she says fiercely, and Ronon's stomach turns. "I do not catch prey. I take a willing mate. If you want to be captured, I will not do it."

"That didn't go like it was supposed to," Ronon says, wincing.

Teyla gives him a skeptical look. "How was it supposed to go?"

Ronon shrugs. "I was just trying to be sexy."

"And this is how you chose to do it?" she says indignantly. "If you are truly interested, I have no need to capture. There is too much of that already. I need a good defender and a steady hand."

"A guard dog," Ronon says, as it clicks. Teyla gives him a confused, wary look. "That's what they call them on Earth. Subs whose job it is to protect their tops, until they're let off the chain."

"Are you a guard dog?" she says, looking him up and down, though she seems more contemplative than she did a moment before.

"Better at that than sitting home and looking pretty," he says.

Teyla is studying him now, and Ronon knows they're getting back on course, closer to what he was going for. "If we do this, we do it my way."

"Wouldn't expect anything less," Ronon says.

"Best me," Teyla says.

He frowns. "Huh?"

"Prove your worth, or you are worthless to me," she says, with a hardness in her tone that Ronon likes; it suits her.

He twirls his sticks, then walks over and changes them out for his preferred weapon, one long rod, delu in Satedan, though he thinks the gate translation is turning it into 'staff.' If this is a test of his capabilities, he's going in with everything he's got. "You know I'm gonna do it, don't you?"

"If you are so sure of yourself that you don't care to earn it, then you can go find your own satisfaction," she says easily.

"You're gonna be mean, aren't you?" he says, though it's definitely not a problem.

Teyla shrugs, then twirls her own sticks, signalling readiness.

Ronon starts to move, stepping to the side, but interestingly, Teyla plants her feet, one forward and one behind. Ronon wonders if he's walked into something here; it feels like a ceremonial thing. It also feels a lot like when he was learning the delu, taking runs at his teacher as he stood unmoving, batting him away like it was nothing.

Teyla looks like a powerful thing, effortless, in a way that makes his pulse quicken. He's gotta win this, because he can't stand not to.

He looks at his angles, studies how to go in. He's not sure whether she'd just stand there while he went behind her, so he moves closer, trying it-

And out of nowhere she springs at him, attacking him all at once. Her Bantos rods are flying, and he has to take his delu spreadhanded to catch all of her blows. Some of them impact, but Ronon doesn't even have time to think about it.

_Defend_ enters his mind. That's what he's supposed to be doing; that's what she wants. She isn't going to stop this unless he gives her what she's demanding, and Ronon wants to give her everything.

He manages to disengage from her, dropping back and taking up a defender's pose. It isn't like the Athosian one, limber and readied. He was taught to hold a line; he stands with his legs shoulder width apart, delu held in front of him, two hands on the hilt, angled across his torso.

He can tell Teyla is pleased, the way she looks at him, a little smile on her face. She walks towards him, sticks still up, and it takes everything in him not to strike.

Ronon jumps when she smacks him on the ass. "Will you not attack?" she says.

"If you want me to, I will," he says. This is all sending him into a familiar, though strange in context, place, the feeling of being controlled loosening him. This is weird and it feels right, being directed, being used.

Teyla comes back around in front of him, and her movements remind him of a snake, a viper, the ones that undulate easily side to side. She's fluid, the kind that makes grabbing at her trying to catch water. She twirls the stick in her left hand, then the one in her right. There's a hard glint in her eye that hits him somewhere in his stomach, undoes something that's tied up tight.

"Attack," Teyla says, and Ronon's body moves before his head is done processing the word. He's right on her in an instant, and she blocks his every strike. She whirls like priestesses of war gods do, countering him like she can see into his head. Maybe she can; he wouldn't put it past her.

He redoubles his efforts. If she'll have him, she gets all of him, all the fight that he has, every scrap of training or ingenuity or hard-earned skill that he has at his disposal. There are things she's not expecting; she doesn't expect him to actually be able to hit her, so he does it, catching her places that aren't allowed in Athosian fighting, her stomach, her elbow. She's hitting him back and he doesn't even feel it, too focused on what's actually important.

She starts to move back, to disengage, and Ronon doesn't let her. She said attack; this is not a sparring match. This is a trial, and Ronon means to pass the test no matter what he has to do. She's not paying enough attention to her footwork, and Ronon sweeps her legs out from under her with his delu. He grabs her in the next instant, bearing her down to the floor and going with her, his knees on either side of her hips.

They're both panting, and Teyla looks up at him with a kind of exhilaration in her eyes. After a moment, she nods towards his delu. "You haven't finished it," she says.

He's supposed to put the staff across her neck, hold her down, ask her if she yields. Instead he holds the delu in both hands, a few inches above her throat. "Not without your permission."

Teyla huffs, a breathless laugh. She puts a hand around the delu and brings it to her throat. "I yield."

After a long, tense, packed moment, Ronon takes the delu away, setting it beside them; her sticks have been lost in the struggle. "Ow," he says suddenly, when he moves the wrong way and realizes she cracked him in the ribs.

"Likewise," Teyla says wryly.

He almost apologizes, but that isn't right; he was only doing what he was told, and there's nothing to apologize for about that. "Would you let me show my appreciation?" he says, because he still feels good and loose and focused on her.

"How do you propose to?" Teyla says, stroking his thigh.

"However you want," Ronon says.

"You have no ideas?" she says, and he can tell she's toying with him.

"I can't think of a sexy way to say 'let me eat you out,'" he says.

"Do it anyway," she says, pushing him off of her, and he grins.

She's wearing the skirt she prefers to fight in, and Ronon gets between her legs and eases it up, lets it pool around her waist. He only barely glances at her underclothes before getting them off and out of his way. She's laid bare before him, smelling of arousal and clean, fresh sweat, and he goes in immediately, licking up the length of her before narrowing in on her clit.

This isn't like the fight at all, but it feels so good. Somewhere fundamental in him it scratches the same itch, especially when she grabs him by the hair and directs him. In the end, he really doesn't need to get caught; he needs to be aimed like a weapon, under the control of an unwavering hand, a cool head.

What he needs is for her to make use of him, to make him useful, and so he doesn't stop, following her lead. They both got worked up during that whole thing, and it's too short a time before she's coming, fingers gripping the back of his head hard enough he can feel it through his locs.

She finally releases him, and Ronon just kinda gives out; he manages to flip down her skirt before resting his head on her abdomen, laying there spent. "That was very good," Teyla says calmly, putting her hand on his shoulder, her thumb tracking over his neck. "I'm proud of you."

"Thanks," Ronon says.

"We have much to discuss, I think," Teyla says.

"In a minute," Ronon says, and he can feel his top's laughter, where he rests his head.


End file.
